


Got lost in this place not made for me

by RocioWrites



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocioWrites/pseuds/RocioWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, he wasn’t a prisoner in their foolish jail. He was a prisoner in his own fucking scary mind, in that smirking madness that his face became.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got lost in this place not made for me

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from Sinew’s Lost/Found. This piece is inspired on what could have happened to Loki back on Asgard after The Avengers - obvs I wrote this before Thor: TDW.

_~[Hear the scream in me, too loud and too intense to shut it down](http://thezwuzimaster.tumblr.com/post/47118315704/title-got-lost-in-this-place-not-made-for-me-word)~_

And then it got out of hand, and it was stupid and he was bleeding sometimes. Sometimes, he cried himself to sleep and wouldn’t say a word for days except to yell for some food and water. No. No, he wasn’t a prisoner in their foolish jail.

He was a prisoner in his own fucking scary mind, in that smirking madness that his face became. And fear and prayers mixed together, then some blood and some curses. He knew the spells too and he spoke them aloud now and then.

But it was definitely out of hand, out of reach of anyone’s comprehension. It was beautifully broken indeed. He was pretty sure here and there some people tried to fix it, _fix him_. To no avail, because he wasn’t some broken porcelain jar even though his skin was pale and bruised easily making nice patterns like old flowers delicately painted.

He knew of this particular woman who came very often, brought food and wine and talked to him. She had brought books once and read them aloud. It was nice and calming and he ate listening to her voice, soft and melodic like a well played instrument, like a lovely song forgotten by his own ears. She cried too, pitifully and broken;  _just like him_.

Anyhow, it was ironic. Because her cries made him smile, one of those smirking and eternally awful smiles of his. He just knew that was the type of smile everyone hated and still, he couldn’t stop himself. Why should he? He was locked away after all, no need for more precautions around him, no need when he was powerless and out of his own mind. He was insane, that much was clear.

There was someone else. A young man, coming and going, most of the time he stayed silent, watching him without saying a thing. It was comical, he thought. He could see the love and the hurt in those sad eyes. And he smirked at him too. Why wouldn’t he? This man should know by now that he was meant to be remembered; if not for good then for wrong. Then for being crazy and trapped in the only prison his people built. A prison made of crystal and fear, fear of something they didn’t know and weren’t able to understand.

The woman prayed. The man didn’t. He was just in between. He did pray, just not for salvation or redemption, just not for less blood and more love. He prayed for cruel despair and cutting truth; something he could handle, something he could have and not feel guilty about for once.

Because wanting love was needing someone else in his life and he couldn’t pay that price, not anymore, not here. Not when he was lost in thoughts so far away from the bed he once had, so far away from the goodness and nobleness he was supposed to learn. He was so far away, away from that golden palace and that warm family he once had. Somehow now it felt like he never had it, like all that happiness was just a half dream.

But he prayed, he told that to the ecclesiastical that went to see him as a favor to his father. He talked to that man, he didn’t know why; maybe his throat was missing the use, maybe he needed some company, who knows?

The man smiled sadly at him, asking what he prayed for. And he wanted to say the most perverse thing he could think of, maybe blood and lust and greed.

“For things I can’t ever have.” He said instead. His own eyes widened, he didn’t mean to say it aloud. The old man spoke to him, slowly and without pause; he didn’t listened after his own unintentional and terrifying confession.

*

The smirking madness, that was how they called him. It wasn’t unpleasant if he must confess. It was, in some twisted way, quite perfect for him and he felt a buzz of pride mixed with amusement. It was meant to be cruel, an insult, yes; and yet he felt all kinds of pleasure at hearing it above the city’s skies and those boring men and women who worked day in, day out for their king.

The young man’s face upon hearing it the first time was priceless, it got him so mad, it was truly hilarious.

But it didn’t matter because at the end he became the smirking madness, chasing dreams, powerless and caged like some animal.

*

“The old man refused to tell us what you pray for.”

It was the first time the young man said something; the woman was at his side, watching him intently. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and for once he didn’t want to smirk and make her cry; there was something in the air and in the way the man stood. No, he wouldn’t speak of that, his prayers were his only and he wouldn’t divulge.

The woman brought him a plate with some food and she smiled a little, looking at him, searching for answers he didn’t have. He was insane, why didn’t they leave him alone? He was trapped there, stucked in bloody daydreams that weren’t real; he hoped for war and pain and a way to make everything stop.

Nonetheless, he prayed for what everyone prayed for. For love, for forgiveness. For sanity. He prayed all the time to take back all his mistakes. And he prayed for the hate of all these people. He  _needed_  them to hate him, the woman and the young man. He couldn’t stand that pity and that love. He needed them to end him.

He prayed for things he could never have back.

“Tell us, brother.” He insisted. The voice was too loud and at the same time, it wasn’t loud enough.

“I am your brother no more. I never was.” He answered immediately. It was the first thing that escaped his lips and the face the woman and the young man made at him was worth it. They didn’t get it yet; he was lost, he wouldn’t be found. Ever. Not by them, anyway.

_~Leave it all behind, don’t worry about the ones that do not care~_


End file.
